Sometimes You Need a Little Push
by puckleberryjam
Summary: When Rachel was a little girl, she always sat on the swings alone. One day, a little boy changes that. Pure fluff.


Rachel never liked recess. It was unnecessary. The time could be better spent in music class, or art, or even cursive (she still hadn't mastered the capital "j"). But despite her protests to stay inside, Ms. Summers insisted she go outside and play with her friends. Rachel took that to mean "watch the other children play while you sit alone on the swings as usual."

So she did just that, brown eyes scanning the jungle gym. She saw Brittany and Santana talking to one another under the slide, pinkies linked. She looked away when the taller, dark haired girl shot her a dirty look. That silly Finn boy and his "girlfriend' were on the teeter totter, Quinn trying to explain how it worked. Rachel giggled to herself, knowing the attempt was fruitless. She'd been Finn's reading buddy a week ago. She'd shared _The Giving Tree_with him. He'd brought a Spiderman comic book. She'd smiled, but found it a little sad at the same time, especially when Quinn had stormed over, dragging him towards the bean bag chairs to read some watered down Nancy Drew paperback.

And now she was sad again, and she wondered how much longer recess would be. Her fingers curled around the rusted chains, crossing her ankles in front of her, pushing her little loafers into the sand. _They'll like me once we're in third grade_, the seven year old thought to herself, looking into her lap, eyes tracing the pattern on her pleated skirt. _It has to, doesn't it?_

She squealed in surprise when she felt a pair of hands on her back, pushing her forward lightly. Her elbows hooked around the chains of the swing, squeezing her eyes shut as she lurched forward. She felt arms encircle her waist, pulling her back up before she twisted her torso around, fuming.

"Why did you do that?" she snapped at the boy. She knew him. Noah Puckerman. He'd recently started telling everyone to call him Puck. Except Rachel. He never really spoke to Rachel, except at Temple, or when he made fun of her knee socks.

All he offered her now was a shrug, arms gone from around her waist, his hands now shoved into the pockets of his jeans. "You're on the swings. You have to swing."

"_That's_why you shoved me?"

"No. I _pushed_you. So you would start swinging." He rolled his eyes as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "God, I thought you were smart or something. Guess you're stupid."

Rachel frowned, hurt by his comment. "I'm not stupid. And don't say that. It's mean." He just shrugged again, and she took that as his way of saying goodbye, so she turned around. She didn't expect to feel his hands on her back again, but this time he didn't shove her. "Noah?" she inquired, no harshness in her voice, just confusion.

He groaned as she used his first name, and later he'd tell her to stop using it, but for now, he kind of liked it. "Yeah?"

"What are you doing?"

"You still need a push."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." He applied slight pressure on her back, but not enough to actually give her any momentum. "So can I push you?"

Rachel wasn't sure why she was suddenly smiling so much, but it felt good, and she felt something inside of her stomach bounce up and down. "Okay," she said with a nod, fingers wrapping around the chains once more.

"Cool." And then he was pushing her and her legs were bending as she gained air, her hair whooshing back and forth with each swing. He smiled to himself as she laughed, leaning back against his hands, urging him to push her harder.

It would become a tradition between the two. Just as Quinn and Finn had the teeter totter and Brittany and Santana had their spot under the slide, Rachel and Noah had the swings. And those swings would remain theirs for the next two years. They would take six year break from them, letting other little boys and girls push on another. They'd claim them again though. On a warm spring evening in their Junior year, when he'd drive over to their elementary school and help her hop the fence, leading her towards the same swings. He'd push her like her had all those years ago, except this time, when she started to come down, he'd curl his fingers around hers over those chains, and stand in front of her. And then she'd kiss him, like he'd wanted to do the first time, eight years ago.

Rachel knew all he'd needed was a little push.


End file.
